


5 Times John Gets Lost In Alex's Eyes

by whoopace_kosi



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Alex is smooth, Gay, John Laurens is Suffering, John is a Saint, Multi, This Is STUPID, Why Did I Write This?, awkward asexual writes two gay men and it is awkward, cute shit, idk - Freeform, no edits we die like men, struggling people fuck up a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 08:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14540625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoopace_kosi/pseuds/whoopace_kosi
Summary: (And the one time it's OK)Exactly what it says on the tin.Or, John keep it in your pants gdi.I decided to try me hand at 5+1 things, IDK





	5 Times John Gets Lost In Alex's Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> why do i put myself in these situations

(And the one time it’s ok)

* * *

  
1.

The Laurens car pulled up to the dorms of Columbia University, carrying two passengers. Henry Laurens stepped out first, followed by his oldest son, John. They shared a bit of resemblance, though John got most of his defining features such as his freckles, and his dark, curly hair from his mother.

There was no lost love in between them. Hence, the reason John had taken the time to apply for colleges at least 500 miles away. Henry awkwardly pats his shoulder, after they unloaded John's limited luggage, and drove away, not saying a single word past the safe grounds of courtesy.

John heaved a sigh of relief. Finally, after 18 years of conflict with his father, John was free. 

He slammed open the door, relieved to find that his roommate hadn’t arrived yet. Whoever he was, John thought, he’d just deal with him.

After setting up his room to the best of his ability, John pulled his pride flag from the depths of his luggage and slowly hung it on his side of the room. His father wasn’t there, he was finally in New York, and he was allowed to be as gay as he wanted to be. Everyone else would just have to deal with it. Even his new roommate, wherever he was.

As if summoned, the door swung open. A boy about John’s height, which wasn’t much, with long black hair pulled into a ponytail, only two suitcases, and a green shirt reading, ‘down to fight.’

The first thing the boy said as he flounced into the room was, “Nice flag.”

“Thanks. I assume you’re my roommate?” John asks, oh-so-subtly checking him out.

“I guess so,” The boy responds, reciprocating his checking-out. “I gotta say, it’s nice rooming with a cutie like you.”

John choked, his face turning red at the unexpected forwardness. Not like his face isn’t always red. Then, like an _idiot_ , he sticks his hand out, and says, “I’m John… John Laurens.”   


“Alexander Hamilton,” The boy grinned as he grabbed John’s hand, squeezing. “Looking forward to getting to know you.”

“Ye-yeah,” John breathed like a schoolboy, making a complete fool of himself. Up close, he suddenly asked why society figured brown eyes were “boring” or “average,” because Alexander’s eyes were neither. In fact, Alexander’s eyes were particularly expressive, broadcasting his every thought to the world. _God_ , John thought, _an hour of being out of the closet and I fall in love with the first boy I meet._

He realized he’d been holding Alex’s hand for longer than socially acceptable, though Alex hardly seemed to mind.   


* * *

2.

Three months later, John finds himself in a bar on a Friday, listening to Dua Lipa and Alex ranting about some douche in his debate class. 

“-and I swear, John, that fucker was wearing a pink sweatshirt and magenta pants, and he called _me_ pretentious! And Burr just _stands_ there, like a little shit, and I’m like, ‘why’d you take debate class if you don’t have any fucking opinions?!’ And for whatever reason, he gets _mad_ at me, even though I’m just saying the truth!”

Lafayette pats his back. “Please do not murder my cousin Thomas. ‘E is not so bad.”

Alex explodes, “You two aren’t even _related_!” while Lafayette laughs.

As prickly and downright annoying John and Alex can get, they’ve managed to find friends in this place. Lafayette, a 6-foot-2-inch demiboy who immigrated from France met them shortly after the first week of classes, all because he’d heard Alex and John speaking in French together and had inserted himself in the conversation. Which. Small world. John had suddenly found himself grateful for his years in Europe, traumatic as they had been, because while Laf was actually French, Alex, having grown up in the Caribbean, spoke fluently in French and Spanish, like John did.

Almost simultaneously, Hercules Mulligan dropped into their little set because he’d dragged Alex away from a fight and cleaned him up, despite having no classes in common.  Alex was a Politi-Sci major, and Herc was studying Fashion Design.

John snaps back to the present when Herc snaps impatiently in front of John’s face. “Hello? Earth to dumbass, wake up.”

John shoves his hand away. “Fuck off, dick, what is it?”

Alex nudged him. “We were just talking about Lee.”

“Who?”

“Lee. Charles Lee. Washington’s old TA who’s been bad-mouthing him,” Laf supplies.

“What’s he been saying?” John can see the first inklings of a fight glimmering in Alex’s beautiful eyes, in the hard set of Laf’s jaw. Vaguely, he thinks, he’d like to draw them like this, vengeful, purposeful, righteous fury balled up in their fists. 

Alex shrugs, acting cool. John knows him enough to see past the act. ”Just that Washington doesn’t know what he’s doing, and that he’s better off growing weed in Virginia.”

“Are you kidding me?” John demands, “He can’t get away with that.”

“Apparently,” Lafayette mutters, “he can.”

“I’d love to deck him,” John says as he downs his drink. He’s drunk.

"You and me both."

Mulligan steps in, “Don’t get expelled ‘cause you punched some irrelevant ass. Get expelled for something worth it.”

Strangely, that does the trick. John feels the fight drain out of the atmosphere. He’s leaning pretty heavy against Alex, both of them lightweights. He drinks what’s left of Alex’s beer, but he doesn’t seem to mind, only an amiable “hey!”

A few seconds of silence is broken when Laf nudges Herc and they get up, saying something about _not drunk enough for this._

Unfortunately, John’s crush on Alex hasn’t faded in the three months of knowing him, which feels a lot longer. It’s gotten stronger, each time they’re ranting about anything that comes to mind at 11 pm and they’re both standing on top of their chairs because they _can_. It’s gotten stronger every time Alex strings an arm around John’s shoulders or holds his hand, or walks beside him, hand slung around John’s waist because they’re both super tactile. They all are, but especially Alex and John.

“Laurens,” Alex breathes, and John looks up.

He almost gasps when those hickory colored eyes gaze back at him, expression soft and unfamiliar on Alex’s face, as he’s normally telling people to fuck off on a daily basis. His eyes are darker than normal. _It’s the alcohol_ , John reasons. _It’s the stress. Alex stayed up too late-_

“Your freckles are really pretty, John.”

John’s breath catches. He’s trying to say something- anything -but he’s still staring at those warm chocolate eyes when Lafayette slides into the booth and shoves a shot glass into John’s open hand.

They stumble home and don’t speak of the incident again.

Somehow, that makes it worse.   


* * *

3.

His father called him one day.

Foolishly, John thought after his father drove away that he’d shut that particular door. Of course, he called home, but it was always Martha or Henry Jr. who picked up, and Henry Sr. stayed in the background.

The call came after dinner. Alex rapidly typed out a paper while John annotated an art history textbook. His phone started ringing, and when he turned it over, the contact read “Father.”

John froze. He considered letting the call go to voicemail but. Maybe it was something important? Shoving a curl behind his ear, he pressed answer.

“Jack. Hello.”

“Dad? Is anything wrong?”

“No, nothing,” Henry answered. And John let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Henry’s next words turned his blood to ice. 

“I was just wondering why the _Charleston Daily_ just printed a headline story: ‘ _Senator’s Son part of a GSA._ ’”

“W-what?”

“John, is it true?” His father demanded.

John stays silent.

“John.”

“Yes. It’s true.” He utters. Alex watches from his desk. His warm eyes are a comfort to John. He wonders if perhaps he’s a little too attached. The world is fuzzy. 

Henry sighs. “Son, I know you’ve always been a bit… liberal in your views, but really? John, associating with this GLTBQ whatever whatevers-”

“LGBTQ+,” John corrects. He knows his father is trying to get a rise out of him, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“-you should know your actions reflect upon me, and the entire Laurens’ family name. My political career will suffer. How could you be so selfish-”

And just like that, the world snaps into focus.

“Selfish?” John feels like yelling or crying. An ugly, burning pit digs into his stomach. “I hid who I was for _eighteen years_ for you! I lied and pretended and felt like shit for forever, just for your stupid fucking career and family name, and now that I’m finally away from you, you want to tell me I can’t be who I am?!”

Henry falls silent. John can feel his heart beating. Then his father says, “And who is that, John?”

“Dad, I’m gay,” John said, pleading with his dad to accept him. Time didn’t slow down or stop or pause, which feels wrong.

Henry said gruffly, “We’ll talk about this later, John.”

He hung up.

John stayed in his seat for what felt like forever. In reality, it was probably only a few seconds, because Alex,  glorious, beautiful Alex was there, kneeling in front of John. He hadn’t realized he was ugly crying until Alex brushed away a tear.

“It was my dad,” John says, because he knows Alex will ask.

“What did he say?” Alex was much calmer than John, which was a first.

“Oh, just that my being gay was making his career look bad.”

“I’m sorry.”

"Me too."

They sit like that for a while, and just when the silence gets unbearable, Alex decides to speak.

“John. You are the most incredible person I know. You are so strong, John. And if your father can’t see past his own bullshit to realize that, then he doesn’t deserve you as a son.”

It was quiet again, but John knew he still had to say something.

“My mother,” John breathed, “she was… an angel. She was so kind and compassionate and she loved me and she didn’t care if I was gay. I- I thought it’d be me, my siblings, and her… once my dad started drinking… but she d-died, and James died and I don’t know what to do, and I still don’t know how to not let my dad’s bullshit affect me and I hate him. I hate that.” He hated how weak his voice sounded, always so weak, and that’s why he took so many risks. To prove himself.

Alex held John’s face so he had no choice but to look into those captivating eyes. “John. Don’t beat yourself up. He’s your family, and that will always mean something, for better or for worse.” Alex’s eyes seemed to look at John but he knew Alex wasn’t  seeing him, not really.

He’d been staring into Alex’s eyes too long.

John cleared his throat. “Alex… thank you.”

Alex held him until he fell asleep.

John had an 8 am class the next morning and ran out, and they didn’t speak about John’s breakdown again.   


* * *

4\. 

Peggy accidentally started a prank war.

The Schuylers are three adopted sisters who lived in the whiter, richer area of dirt cheap apartments for college students about 2 blocks away from Alex and John.

He’d made friends with Eliza’s girlfriend, Maria Lewis, at his art class. One day when Eliza showed up after class to pick up Maria, he’d recognized her vaguely from a banquet Philip Schuyler hosted that the Laurens family had attended. After being casual acquaintances for a bit, Alex had met Angelica Schuyler in his Politi-Sci class, and their odd little group of friends grew by 3 females. 

Back to the war.

Peggy played some prank on Angelica, who played a prank on Eliza, who played a prank on Maria, who played a prank on Alex, who played a prank on Lafayette, who played a prank on John, and so forth. Somehow, it had devolved into a campus-wide prank war, and somebody covered Washington’s car with post-it notes, and John wrapped Alex’s laptop in 10 layers of wrapping paper, then Alex wrote a poem on the wall of their apartment while John was out (“This is really sweet but we’re gonna have to paint over this when we move out.” “Only for you, dear Laurens.”), then Hercules plastered _Twilight_ posters _everywhere_ in their apartment (John hadn’t screamed so loud since 2012), then James Madison, of all people, posted a sign that said “ **TAKE OFF YOUR PANTS**!!!” in the forum and roped Jefferson into enforcing it, which, of course, led to Alex stealing every single one of Jefferson's pants, then John filled Charles Lee’s closet with ping-pong balls, and Angelica taped an airhorn to the bottom of Burr’s seat so at a 9 am lecture the entire campus woke up (The only time Burr ever did anything of importance, Alex joked.), and it was general chaos for a _long time_. 

About halfway through, someone gets the _brilliant_ idea to put an _aquarium_ next to the generator, and, surprise surprise, it spilled. On the power box.

Now, all of the apartments in John’s building and Lafayette and Hercules’ building next door are without power for 2 days. Of course, Alex uses it as an excuse to rant about how _their_ power will be on in 24 hours, but Puerto Rico hasn’t had power for _6 months_. It’s one of the things that make Alex who he is, and John loves him for it.   
He’s admitted to himself that he’s in love with Alex, if only because the self-help book he bought over the counter said acceptance was the first step of getting over someone.

“So that was a fucking lie,” John murmured under his breath as he lit a cheap candle.

“What?” Alex asked as he locked the door behind him, arms loaded down with snacks and other foods you don’t need a microwave for. He toed off his socks and shoes at the door. John watched a bead of sweat trickle down Alex’s neck before disappearing into his shirt. He found himself wanting to follow it, see where it went, maybe _taste it_. God, what kind of creep falls this hard for their best friend?

What sucks is that _Alex_ seems perfectly content to hang with John all day instead of getting a fucking dating partner and keeping John’s hopes up. They keep blurring the line of platonic and romantic until John wants to scream every time Alex looks at him.

Alex gave him an odd look, snapping him out of his reverie. “You ok? You look kinda flushed.”   
Yeah, that was because the candlelight surrounded Alex made him look like a fucking _god_ , and John is not _flushed_ , he’s _firetruck red and in danger of overheating_. “Yeah, it’s the fire. Getting a bit warm in here.”

Alex chuckled. “Candles. Romantic.”

John’s heart is doing backflips. “Y-yeah.”

_ You don’t know the half of it. _

Alex plops down on the couch, shouldering off his bag, typing rapidly on his phone, probably destroying some kid on Twitter. “Anyway, you would not _believe_ what Seabury said today.”

John relaxes. This is familiar territory. “What’d he say?”

Alex’s eye’s flash. “Oh, he tried telling me and Angelica that our definition of feminism is Wrong and Incorrect and that feminism _doesn’t_ include trans people or people who don’t conform to the standard gender roles.”

“What? That’s suicide. You _and_ Angelica?”

“I KNOW! That motherfucker- he just- and I was like- _ugh_. I hate people like that, they’re just so… and Angelica _destroyed_ him, John, you would not believe-”

The John in question isn’t listening. He is aware he is not listening, but tuning in seems like so much effort when Alex’s eyes are sparkling and alive, the way Alex’s eyes always seem to capture him, even when they’re staring tiredly from across the room at 1 am when John finally manages to drag Alex to bed.

For his part, John tries.  He tries through the time John Adams called him a fag and Alexander decked him so hard the sound had echoed around the lecture hall. (He had to cover his crotch area with a textbook for 2 hours.)

He struggled valiantly when they’re wandering through the city at 1 pm and they get ice cream, even if it’s December, and Alex licks John’s cone when he’s not looking (“I swear to God, Hamilton.” “Bite me, Laurens.”). 

He tries when Alex is threatening to kidnap John to a frat party because it’ll be the best party ever!” (It wasn’t.)

He tries to get over Alex especially when he realizes his sketchbook is increasingly filling with Alex’s face, which. Isn’t surprising.   


But, something about Alex draws John in, whether it’s when he’s destroying Jefferson in a debate or screaming at the TV as Donald Trump does something stupid.

He’s like a moth drawn to Alex’s flame.

But Alex will _never_ be into John beside casual pickup lines, Alex’s default conversation mode. John is confined to pining on the side while Alex floats away.

“John?” Alex is looking at him with concern, and John is _still_ staring at his goddamn _beautiful_ eyes.

“W-what?”

“You ok?”

No. “Never been better.”

Alex doesn’t believe him. “Ok.”   


* * *

5\. 

They’re at the Schuyler apartment when the storm warning comes in.

Currently, all of them lay around, watching (and mocking) _Sleeping Beauty_. John’s phone buzzed. 

“FLOOD WARNING,” the notification said. 

Seven months now he’d known Alexander. He knew about Alex’s past, about how he got here, about the hurricane when he was 13, about his mother. Not any specifics but. Still. He knew why when it stormed Alexander worked himself later than usual, which was already Awfully late. One bad time around September where it had rained for 5 days straight and Alex had walked around with his hair disheveled and his goatee overgrown, wearing the same shirt thrice.

Judging by Alex’s pale face and alarmed expression, he’d received the notification too.

John grabbed Alex’s hand and hauled ass off the couch.  “Y’all, the weather says it’s blowin’ up a storm,” John said anxiously, repressed Southern accent slipping through

“Be safe, you guys!” Eliza called as they slammed out of the building, John mostly leading the way and dragging Alex behind him.   


He and Alex rushed home, hoods pulled down, the pitter-patter of the rain hitting the streets matching Alex’s breathing. Lightning lit up the sky. He counted to three before he heard thunder rumble in the distance. 3 miles away.

They slammed into their apartment, startling the Roomba John had impulse bought one day. John ran to close the curtains over their small window.

_God_ , he hated this. He hated seeing Alex like this, even though his traitorous heart lit up at the idea of being the only person to see this side of brash, loud Alexander Hamilton.

They collapsed onto Alex’s bed, messing up the stack of and John fumbled for Alex’s shaking hand and gripping it tightly. “Fuck, ok, Alex, you’re ok. C’mon, count to three, you got it.”

“One… Two… Three…” Alex’s voice shook.

“Good,” John praised when Alex reached ten. “French.”

“Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix…”

“Spanish.”

“Uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, seis, siete, ocho, nueve, diez.”

“Again.”

Alex flinched when thunder rumbled in the distance. “I hate this.”

“I know.”John squeezed his hand. “I do too. Keep going.”

Somewhere in between the 3rd round of Spanish, John’s eyes flicker down to Alex’s lips. They’re full and pink and framed with stubble that Alex had been so proud to grow.

He snaps his eyes up before Alex notices. Only, that doesn’t help because now he’s staring into Alex’s eyes, which are deep and open and trusting and he doesn’t notice that Alex has lapsed into silence for a few moments.

John’s mouth is dry. “French,” he whispers.

“Un, deux…” Alex is definitely getting closer, or maybe John is? Either way, if any of them move closer their lips will touch and everything John’s been doing to keep his Shit On Lock will come tumbling down.

If this was a shitty fanfiction, Alex would whisper, “Fuck it,” And lean in to capture John’s lips in his own while it miraculously turned into a beautiful sunset while birds sang.

This is not, however, a shitty fanfiction, and Alex slams into John, and it's eleven at night, and some drunk dudebros were arguing about how pissing on the side of the road was illegal, and the world didn’t stop, it just faded away.

It’s perfect, heated and spicy and sweet, he thinks he’s flying and drowning at the same time. Alex’s mouth tastes like coconut and cheap ramen and chapstick and Alex. 

Then thunder crashes outside the window, and Alex flinches back, effectively ending whatever it is they’re doing (Making out? Is that making out?). It’s pouring rain, and one hundred little Johns are inside his head screaming “OH MY GOD WE FUCKED UP!!!”

Alex is having a _panic attack_. Who the fuck is John, to take advantage of that?

He stares, horrified, and Alex’s warm, shocked eyes stare back.

“Talk about it in the morning?” Alex suggests weakly. John is suddenly so tired that he just nods and almost falls over on his bed, and Alex is on the other side but somehow he wakes up with Alex’s arm thrown around his waist and his back mushed against Alex’s chest and he smiles because he knows they’re gonna struggle and have to talk about feelings, which John is never good at, but he thinks, maybe they’ll be ok.   


* * *

+1

They are ok. They’re perfect, better than anything John could’ve imagined. At current, John and Alex and the rest of their friends- even _Jefferson and Madison_ because Angelica somehow sees the good in Thomas and Thomas can’t go anywhere without  James- they’re at a bar, it’s not too late, (for them, anyway, they’ve all got fucked up sleep schedules.), and Alex is snuggled so close to John he feels he could explode from happiness even though that’s _so cheesy_ but he can’t help it.   
Martha, his best friend from home, says that it’s the “honeymoon stage” in their relationship, which, ok, is probably true, but John likes to think that he’ll always get a little lightheaded wearing Alex’s sweatshirt.

Yeah, they’re being obnoxious- little Eskimo kisses that make everyone around the table gag while John holds up a middle finger.

“I’m gonna need a dentist appointment after this,” Maria gripes around her cocktail.

Lafayette smirks, “Like you can talk, Mrs. _Eliza-and-I-only-need-one-bed_.”

Peggy rubs her nose. “If I’m gonna be hanging around _any_ of you, we need to NOT talk about my sister’s sex lives. Either of them.”

Eliza swats her, bright red. “Peggy!”

Jefferson announces, “I cannot believe this is the crowd I run with.”

Laurens counters, “You know you love us.”

“I don’t.” 

“You totally do,” Alex smarms, eager to piss Thomas off.

And John is happy to snuggle back into Alex’s hoodie because it smells like him and Alex warned before they left that, “the only way that sweater comes off you is if I take it off,” and to be honest, John is really hoping Alex keeps his promise.   
Alexander’s eyes are shining and happy and full of love for John and John can’t help but reciprocate, and everything else fades away, just him and his boyfriend's eyes that he’s allowed to stare at for as long as he wants. He lets the conversation float around him, and Alex is brilliant and glowing and emitting that ‘I had sex before I came here’ glow (they did).   
And he’s so, so damn happy because Alexander Hamilton is his and nobody else’s, and he is so happy and in love it’s insane, but it makes the most sense out of everything else in his life. (Because what would life be if it wasn’t crazy?)   
  


**Author's Note:**

> Can u tell i lost steam at the end lol  
> Planning a Hamilton Hanahaki AU idk  
> yo hit me up on my tumblr @isoempress


End file.
